


e-mails from Austenland

by everyl1ttleth1ng



Category: Austenland (2013)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Henry Nobley's POV, Humor, Humour, References to Jane Austen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 62
Words: 20,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyl1ttleth1ng/pseuds/everyl1ttleth1ng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his stint at Austenland, Henry Nobley spends every break tapping away at his laptop. He seems to have all the trappings of an Austen leading man, but where is the doting sister to whom he can unfold his innermost thoughts and feelings?</p><p>She’s at home eagerly awaiting the alert-sound on her cnobley@eleanormail.com e-mail account that announces Henry’s latest update from Austenland...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Carina, I cannot believe I let you talk me into this. The least you can do is be my one point of contact with the outside world. You should  _see_  the get-up our nutcase Aunt A. has got me in. Actually, I probably can't lie to you. You know I've ALWAYS wanted to stride about in a pair of these boots. You'd probably be nice and say I look dashing. If I get a chance I'll try to get one of the other chaps to take a photo of me for you next time we get a break.

Dancing lessons next. Yes, I will be sticking pins into the little effigy of you I'm carrying in my dress-coat pocket between bouts of skipping about the ballroom and my paroxysms of shame.

You'll be pleased to hear that Aunt Agatha has fished out a few gold-embossed black leather covers to make my next semester's teaching prep look more authentic. At least I have her firm promise that I'm only required as a Regency inspired gigolo for the first two days and after the soap star arrives I'm relegated to period-attired window dressing. I'm planning to try to get my next chapter entirely researched before the week is out. I just have to be able to tolerate a few sessions of extremely dull small-talk over sumptuous meals, perhaps a bit of croquet and the rest of my time should be my own.

My "charge" arrives tomorrow morning and then two more desperate spinsters are expected just before dinner. And you, my dear Carrie, are deluded enough to think I'll find true love! That makes you almost as barmy as the women who prop up Mad Aggie's dubious enterprise.

There'd better be an email from you in my inbox when I get back here for my next break!

Love to the bairns and that beef-cake husband of yours,

Henry.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Carrie, dearest.

Date: 19 June 2013 02:17:55 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Oh, Henry,

I cannot wait to see that photo. Arlo and Lulu will flip! I've had them watching that old BBC "Pride and Prejudice" so they'll at least know all about the boots. Though, truth be told, they do the boots much better in Keira's version. Remember those tragic black ballet flats the chaps appear in from time to time in the old BBC one? I hope Aunt A. hasn't supplied you with a pair of those!

And let's not be too hasty in writing these women off as "desperate spinsters". May I remind you that you too are an Austen tragic – a certain PhD comes to mind? And may I remind you also that if you had a chance to meet your Miss Elizabeth Bennett you'd "travel any distance, pay any sum, perform any feat of daring-do"? Quoting you verbatim, my dear brother. Verbatim. So hold off on the judgement.

So, what are the other men like? I want all the goss.

The bairns send their love and the beef-cake is sniggering at you. Lulu thinks you've gone off to Find a Wife Camp. That may be because that's what we've fondly nicknamed your little foray into the world of cosplay.

Can't wait for your next update!

Love Carrie

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Carrie, dearest.

Date: 19 June 2013 08:04:29 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail. com

* * *

 

Oh, God, Carrie. _Find a Wife Camp_? How could you let my little niece believe such a thing of me!?

Dancing lessons were utterly ridiculous. I could die of embarrassment. At least the other blokes were pretty nice about it all. We had a bit of a laugh.

So, the Austenland roll call:

So far, there's this grotesque old guy who plays The Formidable Agatha's husband. You should see the mutton chops on him! Very Martin Chuzzlewit! Then there's a chap going by the name Colonel Andrews. Sweet but camp as a row of tents. Surely any red-blooded woman would see right through him?! There are quite a few guys playing servants (or possibly actually being servants?) but one of them was with us in the dancing class, Martin, I think. A Kiwi. Seems ok, I guess. Didn't say much to me. Andrews was telling me all about this George East character that I'm filling in for. He sounds an outrageous himbo, so should be good for some comic relief which I, at least, will desperately need. Can't wait to meet him!

Breakfast tomorrow is apparently a our last relaxed meal - the last time we get to enjoy our usuals before all the crazy period meals begin. Then, I think we can expect my new girlfriend "Her Excellency Lady Hartwright" (kill me now) just before morning tea. Not sure if I'll get to write until after I've met her but I guess if, as you predict, I've fallen head over heels in love by then maybe you'll never hear from me again. We'll sequester ourselves on some horse stud in the moors and play whist all day. Heaven. Obviously, I'll have to turf my laptop and quit Cambridge. Lady Hartwright sounds like a woman of independent fortune. I'm happy to be a kept man.

Now off you go and disabuse poor Lulu of the horrifying notion that her uncle is at Find a Wife Camp! Honestly!

Be a dear and punch the beef-cake in the face for me, won't you? And enjoy the attached pic.

Love Henry

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... I know... It's a gif. Just imagine you've somehow entered Harry Potter's reality too and all the photos move, ok? I trust your imaginations are up to it!
> 
> LOVE to hear what you think so far!!!


	4. Chapter 4

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Carrie, dearest.

Date: 19 June 2013 10:14:43 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Dr Nobley,

The beef-cake challenges you to a duel. Rapiers at sunrise immediately on your return.

Scratch that. He just popped his head back in to say he remembers that you're actually an alright fencer so he's withdrawn the challenge and plans to just spam you to death. Enjoy that.

Oh, Henry! That photo! You're such a spunk! Seriously, many of those girls in bonnets that turn up to your lectures trying to woo you would be on the ground in a dead faint if they could see this image. I am SO tempted to tweet it.

Ack! Just caught Arlo reading under the bed covers. You'll be pleased to know that it's  _Northanger Abbey_. He's following in your esteemed footsteps, but as his mother I am off to wrest it out of his hands.

Love love love,

Carrie.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: YOU TWEET YOU DIE

Date: 19 June 2013 10:58:32 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Your future sister-in-law

Date: 20 June 2013 11:47:07 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Well, Carina, my heart has been won. She arrived in feathers and lace and I was immediately charmed. We've settled on Bath and she has ten thousand a year so all my crumpets have come up buttered.

Tell Arlo and Lulu that I'll mail them a trinket immediately and send for them to stand up with me at our wedding post-haste. I'm not sure that you and the beef-cake are quite up to holding your own with the social set attending so I'll make sure you get some nice photos in the mail.

Oh, Carrie. You should see her. It is JUST as bad as I imagined. Appalling attempt at a British accent and like Kitty Bennett on speed. TWO WHOLE DAYS! Remember that I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns, ok?

Tell the beef-cake that I suppose we can be friends. I'll lay down my sword if he'll stop RickRolling me.

Henry.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Your future sister-in-law

Date: 20 June 2013 12:38:16 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

She sounds like a dream! Arlo wants to know if you're more like Mr Tilney or Mr Darcy. Compose him an essay on that, Dr Henry Nobley. Might save you a fortune on future psychiatrist fees.

The beef-cake promises to stop RickRolling you if you can send him a picture of you in your get-up on horseback. I think he wants to email it to your Cambridge polo buddies.

Lulu is pleased you're not actually at Find a Wife Camp. It turns out she has plans of marrying you herself. I've tried to explain that there are obstacles but she's determined to find a way. Bless!

More Lady Hartwright news immediately! And fill us in on the new arrivals the minute you get a chance.

Love Carrie.

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Your future sister-in-law

Date: 20 June 2013 05:24:22 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

In my best frilly cravat for dinner psyching myself up to being fawned over my Lady Nutcase and her new pals. At least I get to try a bit of pheasant. Aunt A has been giving me a fair bit of stink-eye. It seems I have to try to warm up to the task a bit. How can I when it is ALL SO REVOLTING! I feel like I'm being pimped out to a deranged ribbon monster.

Will fill you in on the new Ugly Sisters after I meet them over the pheasant.

Starting to wish The Formidable Agatha had let me assume a pseudonym. Would hate to be traceable by any of these women. They're certifiable!

Give Lulu a kiss from me and tell her I'd make a terrible husband. Shouldn't require you to venture too far into fiction. Tell Arlo for now that I'm yet to find my Austen spirit animal. Ask him who he thinks I should aim for. So far I'll be lucky to achieve a passable Mr Collins.

Be a dear and pass on to the beef-cake that his chances of getting his hands on any more incriminating photos of me are slim to none.

Love Henry

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Your future sister-in-law

Date: 20 June 2013 07:56:42 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Oooh, Ugly Sisters, Henry? Your inner misogynist rears his ugly head. We know you've been hurt in the past, my love, but remember that I'm a woman too and you love me to bits and I am not very far short of perfection. The beef-cake thinks so, anyway.

Good luck holding your own against Mad Aggie!

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Your future sister-in-law

Date: 20 June 2013 11:29:13 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Carrie, my sweet, it's at times like this that I really could cheerfully boil you in oil.

It has been a truly awful afternoon with Lady-Frigging-Hartwright (LFH) as she will henceforth be known, but you WOULD NOT BELIEVE one of the new recruits. An American, well past her used-by date, who fits somewhere on the spectrum between a Pearlie and Dolly Parton. She literally, I kid you not, tried to play footsies with me under the table. Not even these boots can ward off an attack of that nature. Thankfully, it seems that my new mate Colonel Andrews has been assigned to her – Miss Charming, if ever there was a less appropriate moniker – and he seems game enough to fulfil his assignment. Good luck to him.

When it comes to our other arrival, I'm afraid all jokes must cease. You'll be rubbing your hands with glee to hear me admit that I may actually be in a spot of danger with this one. She's been introduced as Miss Jane Erstwhile and the moment I spied her over the top of my book I had some kind of physical response to her that left me trembling.

Here was I, nerves so shattered by the grotesqueness of one and the perfection of the other that I can hardly say Miss Erstwhile and I got off to a great start. I was a bit contrary, it must be said. She skewered me in a very witty Elizabeth Bennett fashion that I found utterly appealing but then LFH got in on the act and outright insulted her, obviously cutting her to the quick. While I do actually feel pain for her pain ("A first for this cold-hearted bachelor!" I hear you exclaim), her genuine emotional response revealed to me two truths – she is not otherwise attached, and, she wants to be.

You're delighted aren't you. I can practically hear you squealing with delight that your scheme might have worked. But just because I'm attracted to her doesn't make this Find a Wife Camp.

Kiss the bairns for me. And what the hell, plant one on the beef-cake and tell him it's from me.

Henry.

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Your future sister-in-law

Date: 21 June 2013 07:28:13 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

 

MORE INFORMATION REQUIRED ASAP!

(not Find a Wife Camp my foot)

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Your future sister-in-law

Date: 21 June 2013 04:14:56 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Carrie,

Sorry to keep you in such suspense. I am a complete basket case.

So, this morning after breakfast, we all went walking. I held back a bit, hoping to be able to walk with this intriguing Miss Erstwhile but LFH quite literally yanked me away and she was left in our wake. Rather than awkwardly tag along behind us she went off to explore and I could have kissed Colonel Andrews, what seemed like hours later, when he finally suggested the two of us should go and seek her out. We found her in the barn in conversation with that Martin chap I mentioned earlier. I'm still not sure about him or where he stands in this bizarre place but it did look rather a lot like he'd been trying to flirt with her.

Andrews launched into this ridiculous tirade and she looked so embarrassed. I tried to save her by asking if she felt unwell but that didn't quite do the trick either. We were saved by the outrageous sight of Miss Charming on horseback channelling a non-naturalist Lady Godiva. It seemed we were off horse riding and hunting for the afternoon. As I should have expected, I was stuck with LFH, so I could do nothing but stand by and watch as this creepy Martin guy did that rom-com pool cue trick as he showed her how to hold a gun. I'm amazed she tolerated it. The minute he let go of her she shot everything out of the sky – unbelievable! That's Americans for you, I suppose.

Anyway, there was some to-do with her horse, I don't know what happened, because I was ever so frustratingly forced to leave her behind, alone with Creepy Martin. The next thing I knew, it was really beginning to rain, everyone had returned to the manor, but Miss Erstwhile was missing. So I seized my opportunity and galloped off to find her. She was alone in the woods, getting soaked, but I suppose I might have let myself believe that she was a little more vulnerable and afraid than she really was.

I helped her up onto my horse and then some real thunder sounded. It seemed important at the time, though not so much in hindsight, that we get back to the manor in great haste. Oh, God, Carrie… I ripped her dress! I don't know what came over me! She was sitting side-saddle, we totally could have managed, I don't know… a Colonel Brandon moment perhaps? Anyway, I seized the hem of her gown and I rent it dramatically (and impressively, even if I do say so myself) in two with my bare hands. Lucky! Imagine if I hadn't been able to tear it! Anyway, the rip ended up being a bit extreme. I wonder what Darcy would have done if he'd sighted Elizabeth's bloomers!?

Oh, Carina, galloping along with this beautiful woman in my arms, while still under my gallant delusion that I'd saved her life, may actually have been the best ten minutes of my life to date. Though, when the rain suddenly stopped and we cantered into the front garden it dawned on me that I had perhaps been a bit rash. In my embarrassment I kind of shouted at Creepy Martin and then had to stand by and watch as my Miss Erstwhile outright denied that she had ever been a damsel in distress. It was all a bit crushing. Though I tell you what, if one of Austen's chaps got an eyeful of exposed shapely leg the way I did this afternoon they would have keeled over.

Oh, bairns, Oh beef-cake, how I miss you all and, oh, how I miss the simple life.

Henry.

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Colonel Brandon Forever

Date: 21 June 2013 04:38:49 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

 

About bloody time! I WAS dying of suspense! But now I'm kind of dying of vicarious humiliation.

Sounds like you overstepped, my dear. Is she still speaking to you?

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Colonel Brandon Forever

Date: 21 June 2013 10:47:34 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

 

Hard to tell, we didn't exchange words tonight. She just sat and sketched and then after a while, excused herself and I didn't see her again. Think I'm off to bed to nurse my wounded pride.

Love you, Carrie, and your high hopes for me but I think I'm failing at Find a Wife Camp…

Night,

Henry.

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Colonel Brandon Forever

Date: 22 June 2013 06:38:22 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

 

Oh, my darling brother. I don't think I've heard you sounding that downcast in a while! She might have secretly loved it? Let me know how things go this morning. I'll rush back to check as soon as I've picked up some milk.

Typical summer holidays in Cambridge – we don't even manage enough of a routine to get milk into the house and you're not around the corner to bludge off!

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

From: drhnoble@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Colonel Brandon Forever

Date: 22 June 2013 09:54:06 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Carrie, I doubt today could get any worse. Captain East arrived this morning during breakfast with muscles on his muscles and a highly dubious Caribbean accent. Despite the ridiculous spectacle, all the women were blushing and giggling over him. What an absolute wally, though, he isn't even the source of my problems.

After that I'd been sitting on the patio looking over the pond, trying to read for my classes, but all I could think about was where Jane had been the previous evening and since breakfast. Then she appeared from behind some bushes with effing Creepy Martin. And I had to watch as he got to kiss her and she practically skipped across the lawn. I could kill that scruffy little Kiwi. Oh, the humiliation of being passed over for the guy who carries the fake birds around…

And then, over afternoon tea, this ridiculous pirate just would NOT stop kissing her hand and so I did took the only rational option and knocked his feet out from under him. Oh, Carrie. What have I become?

Yours, in agony,

Henry

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Colonel Brandon Forever

Date: 22 June 2013 03:04:37 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

 

My dear brother. Let me remind you that you are Dr Henry Nobley, tenured Professor of History at The University of Cambridge. You hold two PhDs. You have represented England in fencing. You are the author of four highly-regarded and extremely lucrative books on England's Regency Era. You are intelligent, handsome, witty and, once one's gotten past your prickles, an absolute teddy bear. If this woman has eyes and a brain, and I believe I've heard you express a preference for women with both, she will find her way past the gardener and the pirate to you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Colonel Brandon Forever

Date: 22 June 2013 03:16:44 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

 

Every man needs a sister like you.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Colonel Brandon Forever

Date: 22 June 2013 03:22:52 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

 

Austen would agree.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: GET ME OUT OF HERE!

Date: 22 June 2013 10:03:24 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

 

FIRST, I had to sit and listen to LFH caterwaul her way through the Regency Reelbook. Everyone's teeth were on edge.

THEN, Miss Erstwhile was prevailed upon to play by Colonel Andrews. Who could blame her after all we'd been through that evening at the hands of LFH. She sat at the piano and pretty expertly played that Nelly song from 2002, you know, "it's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes. I am getting so hot, I'm gonna take my clothes off." Ok, obviously not Regency appropriate. But HILARIOUS. Mad Aggie rushed to the piano and slammed down the lid, Jane was lucky to get away with fingers attached. She announced she would retire early and swept herself beautifully out of the room.

And then Miss Charming, who up until now I have loathed, pronounced her performance "Frigging Awesome" and, in the quiet of my own mind, I shouted "Amen!"

FLH immediately began making her way back to the piano and I had to flee. I made my excuses and set off in search of my Miss Erstwhile. It didn't take me too long to find her and things started fairly well – she has some great banter and you, of all people, know how highly I value good banter. But then, of course, it all went wrong. I kind of tried to warn her off Martin and accidentally used the word "cavort" and from there things went seriously downhill. I'm not sure if I'll get another chance, Carrie. I'm pretty sure I heard her call me insufferable…

So, over to you. Can you airlift me out or something? Anything?

 

 

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Martin Chuzzlewit on assault charges

Date: 23 June 2013 12:14:48 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

My choice of subject makes it sound light-hearted but, Carrie, I am a ball of adrenaline. I had wandered around the house for an hour or so after my earlier spat with Miss Erstwhile and suddenly I heard a scuffle from the end of a nearby hallway. I bolted back towards where I thought the noise was coming from to hear Aunt A's "husband" attacking my Jane. By the time I got close enough to see them, I don't know what she'd done but he was on the floor writhing and she was looking pretty shaken. Thankfully, Andrews turned up and manhandled the culprit off to bed. Jane refused all my offers of help and wouldn't even let me escort her to her room. I suppose by that point in the evening all of us blokes had managed to unnerve her so much she was sick to death of the sight of all of us. She seemed to recover much quicker than I did, I have to say. I'm still worked up about it and she was just talking about heading off to bed. Austenland, it seems, is brutal, and not just in affairs of the heart.

Anyway, after being called "insufferable" by the object of my affection not all that long ago, I think I'll plan a reading day tomorrow and try to keep out of everyone's way as much as Mad Aggie will let me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: A new day?

Date: 23 June 2013 09:49:22 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

 

Something odd has transpired overnight. Last night I was attracted to Miss Erstwhile and growing fonder by the minute but this morning it was as if a new and shinier version of her arrived in the drawing room and utterly ruined my whist game. You know me, I'm a bit stupid about all this stuff but somehow her hair was different, her dress, her manner. I thought I was in trouble before, but now I think I'm pretty well stuffed.

So much for the reading day…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:A new day?

Date: 23 June 2013 10:21:34 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

 

You're just emailing me so you don't look like Catherine Morland writing in her journal, aren't you? Typing furiously away at your laptop allows for the possibility of tax returns or essays or newsletters or annual reports but we both know you'd rather be writing "Jane" in little love hearts all over a double spread of your notebook.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:A new day?

Date: 23 June 2013 10:21:34 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

You got me.

 

 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:A new day?

Date: 23 June 2013 12:52:11 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

 

Carrie, what a drama! Only a few minutes to write before luncheon but my Miss Erstwhile nearly got sent home this morning! As an aside I believe she hates my guts which is a terrible shame, but anyway, it seems she smuggled in a cell phone and Mad Aggie found it and was just about to send her home in the most humiliating fashion. I felt desperate watching this unfold – I couldn't just watch her be marched off – and suddenly I realised Lady Hartwright was standing right beside me. I thought it was worth a shot so I asked her very politely if she could pretend that the phone was hers. I knew The Formidable Agatha would turn to jelly at the thought of having to humiliate and send home her most reliable annually attending cash cow and I was right. The incident absolutely dissolved and Jane was left believing herself to be indebted to Lady Hartwright. Oh, the sigh of relief I sighed!

As for the hating my guts part – I may have had a little tanty and raved a bit about women in general according to views I held most strongly around the time that Genevieve ran off with Toby. I admit it wasn't my finest hour and I have probably ruined all my chances with her. I have nothing to say in my defence except that I got a bit jealous because she and Andrews were giggling together and having fun and I couldn't work out a more sophisticated way to join in their conversation. I shouldn't really be allowed to talk to people.

 

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:A new day?

Date: 23 June 2013 01:14:43 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

 

Oh, Henry. Of course you can talk to people. But if you've managed a good first impression, perhaps you should leave it at that. ;)

You know the beef-cake, the bairns and I love you to bits.

 

 

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:A new day?

Date: 23 June 2013 06:27:23 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

 

It was the worst of afternoons, it was the best of afternoons! Oh, Carrie! Mad Aggie wrote a play! And it is quite possibly the most outrageous piece of shite that has ever been transcribed but who cares!? Despite my initial vigorous objections, this bloody play afforded me a wonderful couple of hours alone with my beloved! And I know I'm overdoing the exclamation marks but what in this world is worthy of exclamation if not what I'm about to tell you!?

Oooh, hang on. Got to go. Will write more as soon as I get a chance.

 

 

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:ReRe:Re:A new day?

Date: 23 June 2013 06:36:21 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Henry!? You cannot leave me in suspense like this!

 

 

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: HENRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Date: 23 June 2013 06:48:49 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:HENRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Date: 23 June 2013 06:56:18 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

So sorry, Carrie. I'm sure that was the most unbearable half hour of your life! (Get a grip!)

SO, I'll spare you the horrific details but Mad Aggie's dog of a play is about three sets of lovers. It was proposed that the ladies would choose their partners and Jane got to go second so she COULD have picked Captain Protein Bar but she picked meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

It was awkward and amazing and it turns out that her sketch book is full of drawings of me! Me! She said she was trying to figure me out AND THEN she said something about how I was the resident Mr Darcy and I was every girl's fantasy! ME! And so I said, and I hope it was more dashing than dorky, "So, I'm _your_ fantasy?" and SHE said, "You play your character very well." EXCEPT I'M NOT PLAYING A CHARACTER! So, do you think that means that little old me could really be her idea of the perfect man? Or am I reading too much into it.

Oh heck.

ANYway, after we did some relatively excruciating rehearsal for what will no doubt be my least favourite evening ever, we were walking back to the house and what do we see but LFH and Captain Protein Bar effectively having intercourse on the terrace. Gruesome!

My beloved Jane pointed them out and asked if I thought there might be more going on than acting. Seeing as I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to hear that a child had been conceived during the encounter I ventured an opinion that this was a dangerous kind of a game to play. And then she asked me something along the lines of whether I thought it possible that their feelings for one another might actually be running deeper than just play acting. And I saw my moment! I said, but probably too quietly, "If you'd have asked me a week ago, I'd have said no," but she either didn't hear, or chose not to hear, my confession. It is  _just_ possible that she was lost in thought and genuinely didn't hear me. And I was really just about to confess all but she looked right at me when I said her name and I chickened out. I pretended that I'd just noticed she was cold and gave her my jacket. If only being gallant and being transparent amounted to the same thing.

But there you go, Carrie, I'm in love. In love enough to have something to declare and to be too cowardly to declare it.

And now I march on towards the horror of a play…

 

 

 

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:HENRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Date: 23 June 2013 07:13:22 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

There you go, Henry, You've found a wife. Now make her yours! Lulu will recover.

And break a leg!

 

 

 

 

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Floating on a cloud!

Date: 24 June 2013 01:06:44 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Dearest Carrie,

Play shocking but surprisingly delightful fun. Gazed into eyes of dream girl playing my beloved, delivered my "I love you" lines with absolute sincerity. She was charming and beautiful and we giggled our way through the awfulness of it all and it was a dream.

AND THEN, when it was over, she found me in the dressing room, and inexplicably grabbed my hand and we ran together all throughout that sprawling mansion of Aunt A's and I have never seen it look lovelier. I caught my breath enough to ask why we were running and she laughed this delightful laugh and said, "Because man and woman should never be alone unless they are in motion." God, she's wonderful.

And then she pulled me INTO HER BEDROOM and shut the door behind us! And I don't think she really intended anything untoward, though I look forward to some time alone with my imagination to revisit the possibilities. But I got all shy and realised we were still holding hands and I sort of dropped her hand a bit awkwardly and made a very unsatisfying exit. So I stood lurking outside her room for a moment and then was struck with brilliance thanks to me old mate Henry Tilney! I rejoined with "Miss Erstwhile, tomorrow evening, can I reserve the first two dances with you?" Wouldn't Mad Aggie have flipped her lid to have heard me throwing myself into it like that? Anyway, she sweetly agreed and I was buoyed with confidence so I asked if she would let me back in for a moment. The door swung open and I stepped right up to her as if to kiss her but instead I just gazed into her eyes a moment and said, "When I look at you, I feel certain of something." Then I kissed the palm of her hand, a bit passionately it must be said, and then made my exit.

On reflection, that was a bit of a cryptic line, huh? What I really should have said was, "I'm not really one of these actors who does this week after week, I'm just here for the first time ever, filling in for a week, but I love this whole Austen lark and, as it turns out, I love you too. Run away with me!" That might have made my intentions a bit clearer. Anyway, full disclosure will have to wait until tomorrow night at the ball. Cross all your fingers and toes for me. The night I was most dreading about this ridiculous scam has become an evening I am most eagerly anticipating!

 

 

 

 

 

 


	33. Chapter 33

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Floating on a cloud!

Date: 24 June 2013 08:56:48 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Oh, Henry! I'm so proud of you! The beef-cake, the bairns and I will have EVERYTHING crossed for tonight! I want an immediate update as soon as you get a chance. It all sounds very promising!

And, let's be clear, you have gone on camp and found a wife. There are no two ways about it.

 

 

 

 

 


	34. Chapter 34

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Floating on a cloud!

Date: 24 June 2013 11:32:09 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

I love the confidence you all have in me but let's keep things in perspective, there are many more than two ways about it. And I confess, I've found a woman that in my wildest dreams, one day will perhaps agree to be my wife, but we have a few more hurdles to clear before we can definitively declare this to be the camp on which I found a wife.

It seems the ladies are in full primp mode all day today so if I can calm my nerves I'm hoping to get just a speck of teaching prep done or maybe some more book research. I'm not required on deck til 6pm.

Any advice you want to give me for tonight?

 

 

 

 


	35. Chapter 35

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Floating on a cloud!

Date: 24 June 2013 11:47:24 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Oh Henry, just be yourself. She will love you.

 

 

 

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Floating on a cloud!

Date: 24 June 2013 11:51:57 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

You're sweet, Carrie. Sweet, but often completely wrong.

Kiss the beef-cake and the bairns farewell for me. Tonight I'm at risk of death by humiliation, death by broken heart or death by the utter ecstasy of being requited by this magnificent creature.

 

 

 


	37. Chapter 37

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Floating on a cloud!

Date: 24 June 2013 11:55:14 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Carrie,

Just struck cold by awful thought. I know  _I'm_  not acting, but this cosplay world is a murky one. Can I be sure that  _she's_  not acting?

 

 

 

 


	38. Chapter 38

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Floating on a cloud!

Date: 24 June 2013 11:57:46 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

S'alright. Just remembered how lovably dreadful she was in the play. She can't act to save herself. Phew! By the way, my publishers are going to kill me. I AM drawing little hearts all over my notebook. Tell the beef-cake and you're dead.

 

 

 

 


	39. Chapter 39

From: cnobley@elenamail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:ReFloating on a cloud!

Date: 24 June 2013 12:19:32 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Let me tell you a secret about the beef-cake. He  _always_  has to wipe away a tear at the end of rom-coms. He puts up a fuss about wanting to watch Steven Segal but secretly he's already been to the video store to hire  _Love, Actually_.

(Or  _Grease 2_! But if you breathe a word,  _he'll_  kill  _me_!)

Best of luck for tonight!

 

 

 


	40. Chapter 40

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: sunk

Date: 25 June 2013 03:14:05 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Oh, Carrie. I'd better tell you the blissful beginning before I get to the tragic end.

She was SO beautiful tonight. I was a little bit unnerved when I found her at the beginning of the ball. She was chatting to Creepy Martin. I'd actually forgotten all about him but as soon as I saw them together it all came flooding back to me – I'd seen him  _kiss_  her! But I guess that as she'd seemed to warm up to me, any thought of him had faded into the distance. Anyway, there he was again.

However, when I approached her with an as-debonair-as-I-could-muster "Shall we?" she dropped him and took my arm in a second. I made the most of my opportunity to give him a bit of a half triumphant half-menacing death-stare as we walked away but then I forgot _everything_  else but Jane. She was  _sparkling_!

We danced and it was not at all as awful as I imagined, because I was dancing with her! But the cracks were starting to show. She was distracted and looking over her shoulder. Looking for  _him_ , I now realise.

Anyway, she asked me if I were having fun and I  _was_ , Carrie! At that moment I could have cheerfully kissed even The Formidable Agatha for providing me with the opportunity to be dancing in that ballroom with Jane.

I told her I was taking an inordinate amount of pleasure from the evening but none of it because of the ball. She said, in her incredibly American accent, "I think you just paid me a compliment," and I just had to say it all. I could see Mad Aggie supervising me from across the room, maybe she'd twigged to the fact that I was playing suitor to the wrong girl. So, I tried to move us somewhere we could talk without Aunt A watching me like a school prefect ready to pounce. Carrie, it was horrific. We turned one way and there was poor old Andrews delivering his proposal and then trying to avoid being inhaled by Miss Charming (Did I tell you that was her alias? Talk about a misnomer!) and then we rounded a corner to be prime witnesses to Captain Protein Bar's proposal to LFH. Disaster!

I guess with all that ostentatious play-acting going on around us she was probably never going to believe that I was genuine. Anyway, I made a valiant effort, Carrie. I told her that I'd fallen in love with her and that I couldn't imagine leaving the manor without her. For the longest time, she just looked at me as if trying to read through me. I'd like to  _think_  that she was allowing for the possibility that I really meant what I said and wanted to believe it to be true? She said she hadn't realised how she would feel "at this part" – I can only guess she meant when the inevitable proposal that was part of the package she'd signed up for happened, and I realise now what I should have done at that moment and here's where I give you the version I've been pacing the halls WISHING was reality:

"Jane, can you allow me ten more minutes to talk to you about myself, to prove to you who I am outside of this ridiculous façade, to convince you that when I talk about being in love with you, I'm not talking as a character in a fictional world, I'm talking as a real, true to life man who exists out there in 2013 and I'm addressing you as a real woman who also exists out there in the real world and almost certainly wears less corsets in her day-to-day life."

But I didn't say  _any_  of that, Carrie. And I just half-watched myself stand there like a dolt as she said, "You were right, this  _is_  a dangerous kind of game. I don't think I want to play anymore."

All I could manage was to ask her, "What  _do_  you want?"

And, inevitably, she replied, "I want something real." Then she was gone.

If only I had my wits about me! I could have saved it there too, Carrie! I could have grabbed her hand, said "Stay one more moment!" Heck, I could have fished my phone out of my breeches and Googled myself! Anything! Anything, to hold on to her.

When it finally occurred to me to run out after her, all I saw was the glint of the crystals on the back of her gown as she drove off into the darkness with Creepy Martin.

I'm in such a ditch, Carrie. So far, in the eight or so hours since I last saw her, I've mentally trodden this cyclical path.

She chose Creepy Martin over me. I'm a total failure of a man.

and then I progress hopefully to:

She thought I was just an actor. But I WASN'T acting!

and then I remember:

She told me she thought I played my character very well – that I was her fantasy! Maybe that "dangerous game to play" line meant that she really was falling for me but then she just remembered that I wasn't meant to be real!

but then I remember seeing her in Creepy Martin's arms:

What could she see in that guy? He's such a wally!

and then I sink back into:

He's a total wally but she found him more appealing than me. I must be the biggest loser on the planet.

and round I go again and again and again.

Help. Where do you think it's logical to dwell?

 

 

 

 

 


	41. Chapter 41

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:sunk

Date: 25 June 2013 08:22:29 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Oh, my darling Henry. I am so sorry. I don't know where to advise you to dwell but I know for certain that she would never pass you over for some dodgy alternative unless she believed that you were genuinely too good to be true.

 

 

 

 

 


	42. Chapter 42

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:sunk

Date: 25 June 2013 09:03:11 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

CARRIE! CREEPY MARTIN WAS ASSIGNED TO HER!

HE'S THE ACTOR!

ON WAY TO AIRPORT NOW!

 

 

 

 


	43. Chapter 43

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:sunk

Date: 25 June 2013 09:46:56 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Oh my goodness! Call me! I want to know everything!

 

 

 

 

 


	44. Chapter 44

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Thanks.

Date: 25 June 2013 04:43:21 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Dearest Carrie,

I am deeply indebted to you for listening to me babble through that whole sorry tale earlier. It was just so nice to hear your voices after a such a ridiculous week.

I came back to the manor and went to have a little sit (and maybe a little cry) in the spot where we rehearsed the play together. I know I'm usually pretty mean to you when you say things like this but I found her sketch book still sitting on the bench where she left it and I think it's a sign.

However, as you so wisely said, it's quite a committed step to have been humiliated twice by the same woman in your own country and then fly all the way across to the US for a third stab at it, even if you are clutching her lost scribble pad.

But I  _told_  you what she said. And it is  _ringing_ in my ears. "It doesn't even matter that you weren't real. You were perfect. Thank you." And, as I think we rightly concluded, because of Stupid Creepy Martin she just couldn't believe that I wasn't acting. It's like the ball all over again!

She said I was perfect!

So, Carrie. Put yourself in her place. It's a little far-fetched, I grant you:

You are the surely the loveliest creature the entire American continent has to offer. You've paid some heinous amount of money and signed up for a lavish Jane Austen themed cosplay camp where you are guaranteed that, by the end, some actor who has been pretending to fall in love with you will ultimately propose. Obviously, you understand that it won't be a real proposal because right from the outset you understand that they're actors. Yet you go ahead with it – for what, Carrie!? I mean what the hell would any self-respecting person be doing at Austenland!? Is America utterly bereft of decent men? Well, I suppose it probably is…

I digress.

One of the dashing English "actors" is paying you more attention than the others. Your first encounter with him was not at all positive. You attempted polite small talk, he was all nervous (though you weren't to know that) and probably came across as a bit of a pompous arse. You shot him down with an extraordinary one-liner and probably hoped that would be the end of that.

There was that awkward encounter with the horse. How did you feel about that, honestly? (Oh, Carrie, if only you could provide me with the answers…) And then there was that moment where you were enraged by his implication that you were "sullying yourself with the help" (her words not mine. My downfall was my choice of the word "cavort" – should have anticipated that it might not go down well.)

Though he is irresistibly handsome, you think he finds you irritating. He confesses that, in truth, you make him nervous. You draw a LOT of pictures of him. He finds them and asks about them. You hint, when the opportunity arises, that he may be your fantasy. He seems to feel quite chuffed but plays it cool in that incredibly suave way of his. Sure, you kissed one of the dodgy servants a few times, but it was only because he lured you into a relationship by pretending he was the sole person at Austenland not in on the joke. This somehow prevents you from seeing that the irresistible man of your dreams is the only one  _not_  deceiving you.

You willingly receive the further attention of this remarkably handsome and erudite fellow because he forcibly reminds you of that swoon-inducing literary heart-throb, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. At one point, you even refer to him  _as_  "the resident Mr Darcy", this is at the aforementioned point when you allow for the possibility that this Mr Darcy look-and-act-alike might be your dream-guy.

You act alongside (let's just refer to me as "Fantasy Man" or FM for short from here on in, shall we?) FM in a play. You are both dismal but are brought together in a kind of pleasant camaraderie by your mutual humiliation and total inability to stop giggling. Afterwards, you are moved to run off with FM, taking him by the hand and leading him straight into your bedroom. What is going on in your head at this moment, Miss Erstwhile? (Really! I would like to know!)

Your FM is at first nervous and awkward but then improves out of sight, attaining even to the heights of romantic and dashing (Maybe!? One can hope!?). As he leaves, after securing your hand for the first two dances at the ball and earnestly kissing your palm, he whispers relatively nonsensical and certainly not particularly revealing sweet nothings. You lean back against the door with a sigh, bosom heaving, conscious only of the burning spot on your hand where his lips touched your flesh. At last, you have found The One!

But as you hear his manly footsteps retreating down the corridor, you pause. This is mere play acting! You yourself are incapable of pretense but FM must do this professionally! How else could a man wear those breeches so well? How else could he pull off such a dashing forest/storm horseback rescue? How else could he be such a dab hand at whist? How else, in short, could a man so exactly fit your ideal of the perfect life partner?

You square your beautiful shoulders into a resolve. You will attend the ball and dance and smile, but you will guard your already too-far-gone heart. If the opportunity arises, you will settle for a meaningless fling with the scruffy Kiwi (at least it'll be "real" even if it  _will_  be stomach-turningly revolting) before returning home to a land with a total dearth of gentlemen and throw yourself into your career, probably becoming the first female president before the decade is out.

However, though you are an utterly capable, wonderful, self-sufficient, woman of poise and resolve (your week at Austenland notwithstanding), you will always, in the back of your mind, hold on to the impossible dream of one day being reunited with your FM. You will lie alone in bed at night reliving the brief moments you danced in his arms.

And you will find yourself forever haunted by the possibility that when he said, "I never lied to you", he was actually speaking the truth.

Carrie. I  _have_  to go to New York.

 

 

 

 

 


	45. Chapter 45

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Thanks.

Date: 25 June 2013 04:59:10 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Henry, I think you're right. Even if she ultimately says no, you have to know.

What can I do? Want me to find you a flight and a hotel?

 

 

 

 


	46. Chapter 46

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Thanks.

Date: 25 June 2013 05:03:44 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Yes, please! I'm running up now to pack and will get back to Heathrow as soon as I can. Just e-mail me my check-in details and book me into whatever hotel you can find. Her address is here in the back of her sketch book. Try and find me somewhere close? If things seem to be going well and my stay looks a bit lengthier, I can always crash with Davey and Ginger. If all else fails, it'll be lovely to drown my sorrows in such good company.

Jane Hayes

Apt 38

251 W. 53rd St, New York, NY 10025

E-mailed Davey to let him know I'll be dropping by. They're thrilled - so nice to know that there're at least a couple of people eagerly anticipating my arrival. Turns out Ginger's expecting! Can't wait to see them and see how the pub looks now. Anyway, just let me know what you spend so I can transfer the money to you as soon as I land. And, of course, I'll bring you all back lavish gifts from New York. I'm already imagining wandering the shops, hand-in-hand with Jane!

If she sends me away I'll either come home with a packet of chewing gum for each of you or my retail therapy will have me refinancing the house.

Oh, and Carrie? Put me up in a really nice hotel, ok? If it goes horribly wrong I want to console myself in style. I will especially require an enormous bathtub.

 

 

 

 


	47. Chapter 47

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Thanks.

Date: 25 June 2013 06:21:36 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

Ok, I couldn't get you a flight to JFK tonight but I booked you on to the earliest flight tomorrow morning. I got you a room at The Hilton at Heathrow for the night.

You're being sent an SMS boarding pass so let me know if it hasn't shown up on your phone yet. Your flight leaves Heathrow at 0615 and you'll arrive at JFK at 0920 local time. That sounds quick but there's a five hour time difference so you'll have a good opportunity to get some reading done on the plane! (As if! We both know you'll just day-dream the whole trip away…)

I've booked you a room at The London, just because it looked lovely and the name sounded friendly. I think it looks pretty close to Jane's apartment but cab drivers know their way around.

I'm so delighted for Ginger! Davey must be beside himself. I think he's been the cluckiest of all the boys you used to knock around with. Remember when Arlo was just a newborn and Davey came round that afternoon and gazed at him for about four consecutive hours? Jeepers, I don't envy them raising a baby in New York City!

Alright, my love, the beef-cake and I have date night tonight, otherwise I'd say call me from the hotel. If you're desperate for a chat, I'm sure Chelsea, our sixteen-year-old babysitter will oblige. She's told me she's into older guys. I told her that's her business as long as she never, ever, ever brings one of them into our house. Actually, go on and ring. I want to make sure that she's keeping her word.

But, Henry, if you're just lying there fretting, do e-mail me. I'll write back as soon as we get home from whatever fancy restaurant we're headed out to!

 

 

 

 


	48. Chapter 48

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Thanks.

Date: 25 June 2013 06:54:12 PM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

I do not deserve a sister as wonderful and as efficient as you. I'll keep Chelsea in mind but I'll probably be ok. I have my beloved's sketchbook to leaf through (not that she's drawn any pictures of her lovely self) and impending romantic humiliation to anticipate so I'm sure I'll be kept busy.

Enjoy your night away from the bairns! If you find an e-mail later you'll know I've harnessed my nervous energy to chew through the bedpost. It's not entirely unlikely.

Ok! Cab's here!

 

 

 

 

 


	49. Chapter 49

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Thanks.

Date: 25 June 2013 11:54:22 PM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

No e-mail! I'm so proud of you! You're holding yourself together so well!

 

 

 

 


	50. Chapter 50

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Thanks.

Date: 26 June 2013 00:14:53 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Ha! Doing so well!? I've been climbing the walls! I've already swum fifty laps of the hotel pool, channel surfed for an hour and a half and drunk my way through a decent portion of the mini-bar.

Carrie! What am I doing!? Why on earth am I at Heathrow? Can I get any of this money back!? Oh, hell.

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

 

 

 

 


	51. Chapter 51

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Thanks.

Date: 26 June 2013 03:36:24 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

What am I going to do if she actually wants me? Where will we live? Do you think she'll come and live in my house in Cambridge? Hard to walk away from my job if she won't. And you! And the beef-cake! And the bairns! And the chooks, come to think of it.

But, Sister-of-Mine, you know what? Given half the chance, I'm going to stick at this, even if she demands that we live in New York. I could make the most of it! I think I got a job offer from Colombia a few years ago. I wonder if they'd still want me?

And then what if she does agree to come and live in Cambridge!? Can you imagine how wonderful that would be!? Will you be her best friend, Carrie? She won't know anyone! I think you'll love her. I  _know_  she'll love you because  _everybody_  loves you!

Do you know, I don't even know what she does for work! But then, she doesn't know what I do for work, either. Do you think that's a bad sign? I hope she's a librarian. No, she'd probably have to be some kind of artist…

Yes, it is just possible that I have downed one-too-many of those little tiny bottles, ooh, but look, at least there are crisps!

Oh dear, I just woke up in a pile of crisp crumbs and found this e-mail still unsent!

I love you, Carrie. Love to your divine family.

Your drunken lovelorn sod of a brother,

Henry.

 

 

 

 


	52. Chapter 52

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Sister of the Millennium

Date: 26 June 2013 07:16:48 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Oooooh, free wi-fi on the plane!

I still cannot believe that you came to see me off with a spray-bottle of Rescue Remedy and a keep-cup full of Berocca. Never has a sister done so much to enable her brother on such an extravagant and expensive fool's errand! Oh well, I haven't really taken holidays in a while. Those books of mine have put a little bit of money in the bank. Might as well blow some cash on the chance of finding true love!

I will be in touch the minute I have anything of interest to report.

Love, love, love,

Henry.

 

 

 

 

 


	53. Chapter 53

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Sister of the Millennium

Date: 26 June 2013 10:41:12 PM EDT

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Carrie, I was just about to call but luckily checked the time difference and saw that it's not even 4am in Cambridge! However, I have a belly full of food, a delightful buzz from the excellent bottle of champagne I just sampled AND, YES! I HAVE THE LOVE OF AN EXTRAORDINARY WOMAN!

So, I'm feeling… expansive, to say the least. Bear with me as I recount the events of the last how-ever-many-hours in romance pulp fiction from the third-person limited perspective:

_Henry Nobley, our affable British protagonist, sat suspended in an aluminium tube 37,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean and mused on the course of his life to date. Blessed with the best of all the world's little sisters, Henry had been given a better start than most, and yet he had never been particularly lucky in relationships with women. After one particularly doomed dalliance took a greater toll than previous attempts, Henry committed himself to the world of academia rather than to a wife and concentrated on producing books rather than heirs. Though he didn't believe that it was impossible to be happy without a partner, his beloved sister had been so fortunate in her own marriage, that she proved a compelling advertisement for matrimony, should the right candidate ever be forthcoming._

_Henry's world was a cosy and predictable one and he was beginning to like it that way, until, that is, his beloved sister hatched a plot. He was to be surrendered for a week into the grip of their ever-so-slightly unhinged aunt, a widow of such outrageous personal fortune that she had purchased outright one of the enormous heritage homes of the English countryside and re-created, in incredible detail, an opulent Regency-era country manor the likes of Pemberley or Northanger Abbey. There she accommodated a troupe of bronzed male models and females of a non-threatening age who were appropriately dressed and deployed as domestic servants along with a handful of male actors all sharing the goal of making wealthy female Jane Austen devotees' dreams come true._

_Henry was ill-suited and ill-prepared for such a role and yet found himself with no remaining free will. He was trussed up in breeches, cravat and knee-high boots and pushed into a sitting room with nothing to hide behind but a flimsy old book. It was here that he was first introduced to the lovely creature that would pierce his comfortable old armour. A flurry of e-mails between Henry and his sister divulge the details of this early stage of their courtship but, alas, ultimately, the two lovers were parted._

_Jane, believing she had narrowly avoided falling for the wiles of two separate professional wooers of women, returned to her home in New York City. She felt finally free of her crippling obsession with fictional men but was also conscious that she must re-enter her existence with a more cynical shell – those men in the stories, to whom no real man had ever measured up, simply did not exist. Perhaps there would never be anyone in her life who could be trusted with her heart._

_Henry was left in a state. He believed that he had genuinely stirred something in Jane but that she was denying it to herself for her own protection. He understood her predicament. Could there be anything more pathetic than fully giving one's heart to a man one believed to be merely pretending despite his protestations of honesty? He had tried twice to break down what Jane believed to be the fourth wall between them, to no avail. Could travelling three and a half thousand miles and appearing at her door do the trick? It was a choice between exposing himself to deep humiliation or living a life tinged by the dissatisfaction of having tasted bliss and then had it snatched away._

_Thanks to his wonderful sister, flights were arranged, accommodation was booked and here he was winging his way into the terrifying unknown. He remembered what it was that made this woman so worth chasing, beyond her beauty, her sense of fun, her wit, her talent, her kindness. She had made him feel_ certain _of something. He felt that certainty seeping into him, pushing his shoulders back, straightening his spine, strengthening his resolve._

_The plane hit the tarmac and Henry swung into action. Sparingly only the time required to skull a cardboard cup of deeply unsatisfactory American airport tea, he ticked off task after task until, showered and shaved and clad in what he hoped was his least British Professor type outfit from his very British Professor type wardrobe, he stood gripping Jane's sketchbook tightly and staring up at the enormous New York apartment block that the address scrawled across the inside cover suggested was her home._

_The elevator delivered him to the correct floor and left him there to negotiate the labyrinthine corridors alone. When he finally found it, the door that seemed to be hers was ajar, and he could hear the unmistakable sound of a kettle whistling towards full boil. He knocked tentatively._

_"_ _That was quick! Come on in," he heard her say, clearly not expecting_ him _. He wandered in anyway and paused, momentarily contemplating a nearly headless cardboard cut-out of Colin Firth as Mr Darcy standing just inside the doorway. It seemed important that Henry stick his countryman's head back in place and, while concentrating on that task, he absent-mindedly responded with, "Love a cup, thank you," to Jane's offer of tea even though he knew it wasn't intended for him._

_Jane wheeled around in shock at the sound of his voice. "What are you doing here?!"_

_Henry tightened his grip on the sketchbook, "Well…" he said, holding it out with both hands, "you left this."_

_"_ _Thanks." She looked at him, baffled. "You could have mailed it."_

_The coldest of figurative buckets of cold water sloshed over Henry from on high. He'd travelled all this way and she didn't want him. Not even a bit. Not even at all._

_"_ _I… I could have." He shook his head as if to clear the freezing droplets out of his ears. "You're right. What was I thinking?" And he turned tail and walked straight out of the apartment already yearning for the haven and warmth of Davey and Ginger's English pub and a place to hide his head and weep._

_"_ _Wait a minute!" she suddenly called. "Hey!" Jane appeared in the corridor._

_Henry could barely even bring himself to look at her. He paused, but more like a sullen school boy than a man – hands in pockets, pouting._

_"_ _You know, I'm not gonna report your aunt. So it was a little overkill to send you all the way here," she said._

_Henry sighed. Could he ever make her believe the truth? "She didn't send me."_

_Jane looked unconvinced. "Mr. Nobley, or whoever you actually are…" She paused._

_Henry saw a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Davey and Ginger's could wait. "My name is Henry. It's Henry Nobley. I'm a history professor."_

_She looked slightly chastised. "Oh. That's really nice."_

_Henry took a deep breath and charged on. "I used to think my aunt's profession was somewhat grotesque, but the truth is that I enjoyed stepping into history. The idea of a simpler world where love is straightforward and lasting. I believe we have that in common. But all of this is secondary to the fact that I am completely mad about you."_

_Jane looked extremely unconvinced. "All right. Well you may have been mad about Miss Erstwhile, but... You don't even know me. I..." She gestured towards her apartment and all the secrets contained within._

_Henry's spirits buoyed._ Finally _, they were having the right conversation. "You_ are _Miss Erstwhile. I saw you in the theatrical. You were horrifying."_

 _"_ _Wait a minute," Jane interrupted, taking exception to this slander. "_ You _were horrifying. I was...," she shrugged. "I wasn't great."_

_Henry grinned, "My point exactly. Neither one of us are capable of pretending."_

_He could see her trying to make sense of where exactly it was that she was standing. She thought she had just hammered the final nails into Fictional Romantic Hero's coffin. "Nobley, I just don't think this is a..."_

_But Henry could see he was making real progress. He was at least going to finish arguing his case. "The night of the ball, you said you wanted something real." He held out his upturned palms. "I'd like to believe that I am real." He took a step towards her. "Is it possible that someone like me can make you happy? Will you let me try?"_

_He leaned meaningfully towards her and noticed her close her eyes in anticipation._

_"_ _No," she suddenly broke away. "See, people don't do this. I mean, this is my fantasy. This isn't..."_

_Henry's brain was working quickly now. He heard her confess that she had just found herself living her fantasy and he was so close to realising his own._

_He took her again into his arms and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. "Have you stopped to consider that you might have this all backward?" She looked up at him skeptically to find him grinning boyishly. "Jane... You are my fantasy."_

_With that, she melted into his arms and turned her face up to him. Henry kissed her tenderly._

_She drew back a moment, smiling beatifically. "Tally-ho," she breathed._

_He grinned. "Tally-ho!" And again he found her lips with his and they were once more lost in one another._

_It had been some time since Henry Nobley last kissed a woman but_ never  _had his previous attempts felt even half as monumental as_ this _kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and held her closely to him as if trying to absorb her into himself so that he'd never have to be without her again._

What did you think, Carrie? Is there a future for me outside of the safe, green pastures of non-fiction? Can you picture me as a romance novelist?

More to the point, I may have taken a bit of artistic license with the recount of events and dialogue but I hope you got the main gist - she loves me! SHE LOVES ME!

Where did I find the time to pen such an epic, I hear you ask yourself. Well, at this precise moment, my beloved is, by the sounds of it, just clambering out of the enormous bathtub. Her apartment doesn't even have a bath! Can you imagine such an existence of deprivation? You excelled yourself on the accommodation front, by the way, you can practically do laps in that tub!

We're about to head out to  _The Cock and Bull_ so I can show her off to Davey and Ginger.

Anyway, sounds like she's ready so I'll have to sign off. More to say but I'll get to it later. I can just imagine your face when you wake up to read this. It's so nice that I can rely on your blind support in all my ludicrous schemes, Carrie. I don't deserve you. If only I could be bringing her straight round to yours! I honestly can't say how long I'll be staying here but even though I am in raptures of joy, I'm still conscious of an ache for you, Nate and the kids. Smack Nate on the bum, ruffle Arlo's hair and twirl Lulu around for me, will you? And you are feeding my chooks, right?

Love,

Henry.

 

 

 


	54. Chapter 54

From: cnobley@eleanormail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Sister of the Millennium

Date: 26 June 2013 06:24:12 AM BST

To: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

* * *

 

You got her! Of course you did! How could any woman refuse you?! Henry, let me say, that was the best bit of mail, e or otherwise, I have ever received! And as for you not deserving  _me_ , we both know that no other girl of our acquaintance has an older brother who has been nearly as loving, supportive or generous to her and her family as you've been to us. You're on the marriage certificate as the best man, the lease as the landlord (charging us a whole pound a week in rent!) and you are the most doting uncle/godfather any kid has ever had. And speaking of the kids, yes, they're lovingly feeding and tending to your old girls and bringing us back gazillions of eggs. It's 24/7 omelets and frittatas round here.

Getting back to you, my dear, my only fear is that this girl I'm yet to meet might not deserve  _you_! But if she makes you happy, and she patently does, then have at it, good sir! We're all so delighted for you, Henry. And obviously the horseback thing didn't turn out to be too big an issue?

Keep us updated, especially give us enough notice if we need to be hiring the brass band any time soon with which to meet you at the airport!

Love,

Carrie

P.S. Nate was disappointed that you dropped "the beef-cake" – are you trying to hint that you think he's letting himself go?

 

 

 


	55. Chapter 55

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Sister of the Millennium

Date: 26 June 2013 09:28:33 AM EDT

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Can you believe people have to work in this city? Even people who are in love!?

Jane and I just had breakfast at the most hilariously American café (diner even?). Quite the cultural experience. It seems that people here perceive cake, in its various shapes and forms, to be a perfectly nutritious start to the day and they wash it down with the most inexplicable beverage. It looks like an oil spill, tastes like wet handlebars and seems to be consistently but half-heartedly heated to ensure it is kept eternally-not-quite-hot-enough. While Jane is at work I shall embark on a quest for some decent tea leaves in this tea-forsaken town.

Am leaving The London today to take up residence at Davey and Ginger's but I just popped back before checking out to have one more swim in the bath just in case hot water is at a premium down at the pub. Never fear, I made the wise decision to e-mail you from my phone rather than the laptop. Life is too good to get electrocuted just at the moment.

Anyway, I didn't even get to tell you about Jane's friend bursting in on us in my last e-mail! Remember how Jane was expecting someone else when I walked in? Poor old Molly, she's Jane's oldest and closest friend, she's eight months pregnant and she got the shock of her life when she walked straight through the door of Jane's apartment to find her closest friend snogging some guy she had heard absolutely nothing about! She sort of flipped-out a little, but goodness me, I found it enjoyable hearing all the stories I'd told you from Jane's perspective while she worked like a Trojan to convince Molly that I wasn't some desperate cosplay loser.

And funny you should mention the horseback rescue. I had to chuckle while Jane passionately recounted it in my favour. Here are the other delightfully fascinating things I learnt from sitting in on their post-Austenland de-brief:

\- It would seem that I have been gifted with above average hands. Something about these functional things at the end of my arms apparently makes the ladies swoon. If only I'd had this information earlier in life! Anyway, it's working out just fine for me now.

\- With American girls, English accents are the equivalent of a defined six-pack and, thanks be to God, seem to make up for a glaring lack thereof. Our Nate, bearing both, should exercise due caution when travelling in the Americas. (See? I was not for a second accusing him of any such thing. I suppose I just got out of the habit of "the beefcake" seeing as Davey might have looked at me askance if I referred to our mutual best mate as such in his presence).

\- The fact that I can ride a horse at all, let alone mount one unassisted, lift ladies on to and off one and play a game of polo on one seems, to all effects and purposes, to promote me into the same category as Prince William.

\- Mollie, intending to convey that she thought Jane was unhealthily obsessed with Austen, once bought for her birthday, as a novelty gift, a copy of one of my books! Jane dug out her copy of "Jane Austen and Representations of Regency England" from her bookshelf and I was able to sign it for her! I was gratified to see that she had not only read, dog-eared and tea-stained the pages but highlighted key sections of text and even dropped it in the bath! Imagine if I'd known that a copy of my book was enjoying such intimate encounters with my future beloved! Jane was beyond surprised. I still don't think she's managed to put me together with this nerdy Dr Henry Nobley guy. Of course, in her mind, I still hover closest to Mr Darcy. No complaints!

\- It seems I come across rather well in a Google search. When your beloved's best-friend believes you to be a potential psychopath, this is invaluable.

\- According to Molly, Jane has long "been a sucker for a man in a sweater-vest" – it would seem my fears about my British professor wardrobe were unfounded. The more patched elbows, the better.

Unsurprisingly, dinner with Davey and Ginger was absolutely lovely. They were so welcoming of Jane and, as you can imagine, Davey did not hold back in taking her on a tour of all the embarrassing photos around the pub of our old polo teams, rowing meets, football games and fencing bouts - makes me look quite the sporting hero! Ginger took Jane upstairs to give her a tour of their flat above (and the third degree, no doubt!) and Davey and I had a chat while we pulled beers for the punters for a while. So good to see him. He sends his love to you and Nate and the kids. He seems equally freaked out about what it'll be like to have a baby in New York, especially while they're trying to run the pub.

Lovely to see them planning their family together. I have to say, after them last night and Molly yesterday morning and all the time I spend with you guys, I suppose it won't surprise you to hear that I've realised I'm getting pretty clucky myself. Might have to see what steps can be made towards that sort of thing…

Oh, Carrie, you would love Jane's apartment. It is full of the kind of stuff we both go nuts over in the antique shops at home. Apparently, Molly's been at her to modernise. I hope my influence will end up holding significantly more sway!

As for your concerns, I don't know how to speak in terms of whether or not Jane deserves  _me_  - I'd be more inclined to worry about me not deserving her! But she is more appealing to me than Lizzie Bennett ever was, and you know how significant that is coming from me. She has this incredibly loveable quality, a genuine warmth to her that just radiates. She can be utterly hilarious, I told you about her magnificent banter, and she's just a kind soul. Spirited, beautiful, independent, thoughtful and, yes, obsessive about all my favourite things. Honestly, Carrie, the more time I spend with her, the deeper in love I fall. Now that Nate is vomiting into the pot plant behind you, do you think you might be able to agree that she's the one for me?

Alright, I'd better get out of this bath, de-prune and pack before they charge me for another day.

Love you, Carrie!

Love,

Henry

 

 

 


	56. Chapter 56

From: jhayes@iunyc.com

Subject: Umm, introductions!?

Date: 26 June 2013 11:44:16 AM EDT

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Dear Carina,

I have heard SO much about you. You sound like the most saintly and wonderful person on the planet, which I have to admit is pretty intimidating. And I can only assume that Henry has made me out to be some goddess from on high so I thought I'd probably better get in touch and set the record straight!

My name  _is_  Jane Hayes, I  _am_  from New York, I do have to admit a minor indiscretion in that I  _did_  pay to attend your aunt's "madcap enterprise" as Henry so affectionately refers to it, and, as a result, I  _am_  head-over-heels in love with your brother. Thank you for all you did to get him here to me! It sounds like you provided a lot more than logistical support!

Carina, I feel like I need to explain myself a little because you must be pretty worried about who on earth it is that your brother has picked up at crazy-lady camp! I went to Austenland mostly with the hope of getting it out of my system. I don't think I ever  _really_  expected to come home in love, at least, not beyond the obsessive fan love I have for those fictional guys. It was actually a bit scary to find myself responding so viscerally to a guy who I thought was just playing a part. And you can only imagine how sick I felt when, after rejecting  _him_  to protect my poor heart, I realised that the "real" guy I'd settled for was the fake.

I got home and found myself kind of melancholy. I wanted to embrace my fantastic life as a single girl but in lots of ways my encounter with Henry had made that ache of loneliness more palpable – he both allowed for the possibility that there might be a real man out there as incredible as him and yet also made it seem impossible – he could only be that incredible  _because_  he wasn't real. Does that even make sense? What a mess you must think I am! But Carina, I promise that I'm pretty sane and pretty normal most of the time!

Anyway, I'm not sure if what I'm about to suggest will make you more convinced I'm a loser or whether it will give you hope! Either way, please don't breathe a word of it to Henry! Here goes:

So, I've been offered a great job in Cambridge. I know, I know, it's all happened pretty fast, but an old colleague of mine set up his own business there a few years ago and had approached me then about joining his firm as his illustrator. I had no reason to leave New York at the time and so I knocked him back but I've actually been thinking it might be time for a change for a little while now. I rang him this morning and he was just about to advertise for someone to replace the guy he got when I initially said no. Apparently, that guy is moving back to Australia. Great timing!

I hope you aren't rolling your eyes right now. I have never made such a huge move for the sake of a relationship before but, I'm sure you'll agree, Henry is an incredibly special guy. And I genuinely believe that if I don't move to England with him, which I'm quite willing and able to do, he'll seriously investigate giving up his amazing situation in Cambridge to be here with me and I just can't let him do that.

Ok, here's the even weirder bit: I'll understand if you try to get him out of my clutches the minute you read this, but just in case you're on board, here goes: Henry, the most wonderful, loving, amazing man I have ever met is, by some miracle, in love with me. I rejected him twice and nearly managed to push him away a third time, despite him travelling all this way, before I finally believed that he might really mean what he was saying. I think it's my turn to make an enormous gesture this time and this is where I desperately need your help!

Carrie, I know we haven't even met but - brace yourself - I want to surprise him with a wedding at Austenland!

Ok, are you still breathing!? I hope so!

I know that marriage is where we're heading and I don't imagine that comes as much of a shock to you but, maybe it does? I'm so sorry if I just made you choke on your tea!

With regard to Austenland, there was so much we both loved about the place and, obviously, if it weren't for your aunt, we would never have met. Unfortunately, I didn't leave on great terms with Mrs Wattlesbrook and so I'm hoping that you might be able to broach the topic with her and feel her out about it? I know that is such a huge ask. What do you think?

I'm happy to talk on the phone about the details if you don't totally hate the idea. Take your time, have a think, let me know how you feel about it.

I so look forward to meeting you and your family, Carina! Henry talks about you all the time and I can tell that he's really missing you.

Love Jane

 

 

 


	57. Chapter 57

From: cnobley@eleanormail. com

Subject: Re:Umm, introductions!?

Date: 26 June 2013 04:56:23 PM BST

To: jhayes@iunyc.com

* * *

 

JANE! Our favourite person in the whole world! Honestly, I nearly cried with happiness reading your e-mail. Up until now I'd obviously only heard of you via Henry and I just had to hope that you really did love him and understand how amazing he is. It was so lovely reading your account of feeling like you'd won the jackpot with him when we know that's exactly how he feels about you! And to read that you're happy to live here – I really did cry with relief at that point! And to be asked to help you plan a surprise wedding for him! I could not be more honoured or delighted!

I laughed so hard when I saw you refer to Austenland as "crazy-lady camp"! Over here we were calling it "Find a Wife Camp"! You don't have to worry for one moment that I'm in shock or feeling the need to rescue Henry. I'm just so relieved to hear that his love for you is so thoroughly requited! And look, I won't be surprised or concerned if you turn out not to be  _completely_ sane and normal. It seems that you and Henry are insane and abnormal in similar and relatively benign ways so you'll fit right in!

Let's talk on the phone the minute we get a chance. I cannot wait to hear your ideas for the wedding. And don't worry about Mad Aggie, Henry will vouch for the fact that I have her wrapped around my little finger!

I am so excited I do not know  _how_  I will keep this from Henry. Anyway, be assured that I can't wait to have you as my sister!

Lots of love,

Carrie, Nate, Arlo and Lulu.

 

 

 

 


	58. Chapter 58

THREE WEEKS LATER

Henry sprawled across the lounge on which he'd been placed, stretching his long legs and obediently resisting the urge to fiddle with the blindfold Carrie had fastened on him just before they got into the car. He'd caught up on some sleep on the long drive between home and wherever he was now, squished between Arlo and Lulu in the back seat of Carrie and Nate's red Ford Festiva.

It had all gone quiet around him which was a little unnerving. He ran his fingers across the fabric of the sofa beneath him. It didn't feel particularly familiar.

"What on earth are you up to, Carrie?" he wondered, tucking his hands behind his head and settling in for another snooze. He'd been feeling particularly lethargic since he left New York. His publishers were going to call for his head if he didn't get a few more chapters done, but even with deadlines looming over him, nothing could motivate him into action.

Of course, the main issue was that he hadn't seen Jane in almost a fortnight. She'd been urgently summoned home to California for family reasons and he found it extremely irksome, and not a little bit hurtful, that despite all his offers and even his requests, she hadn't wanted him to come with her. He'd reluctantly flown home to Cambridge without a clear sense of what their next step together would be and he felt wretched. Teensy doubts had begun sprouting in his mind. He'd really had to work hard to talk her into letting him have a chance with her. Maybe she'd made up her mind that it wasn't going to work between them. Otherwise, wouldn't she have wanted him to come and meet her family?

He heard a door open and close.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone requiring a blindfolded numpty?"

No answer.

He caught the slightest hint of scent and sat bolt upright, his hands flying to his blindfold.

"No," Jane whispered, suddenly very near. "Don't take it off."

"Jane!" Henry cried. "God, I've missed you." He held his arms out. "Come here!"

It seemed she floated into his arms. He was conscious of swathes of floaty fabric as she positioned herself lightly on his lap and slid her arms around his neck.

"I just have to check something with you," she whispered into his ear.

"Mmm?" he murmured, reveling in the way she seemed to surround and envelop his whole being.

She paused. He felt her laughing against his chest. "Will you marry me?" she whispered.

Tears sprang to his eyes. He couldn't speak. He nodded vigorously.

Her lips met his, sweetly, briefly.

"Phew!" she sighed. "Ok then, see you soon."

Suddenly it seemed she was gone. He found himself being roughly lifted to his feet.

"Mate," he heard, in a voice he could have sworn was Davey's. "I don't think I have ever seen you look like more of a boofhead."

"I have," came the reply, in a voice unmistakably Nate-like. "But wait 'til he sees us!"

Henry looked from one space to the other space above his head where it would seem his two best mates were standing.

"Get up, you goose," Davey laughed, and Henry obediently stood.

"Let's get this off you," Nate chuckled, yanking the blindfold over Henry's head. He felt like he nearly got his ears ripped off in the process.

His eyes, still blurry with emotion, gradually adjusted to the light and he finally focused properly on Davey, Nate and Arlo standing before him, inexplicably trussed up in Regency attire.

"Lads!" said Henry, looking at the three of them in baffled amusement. "What the hell is going on?"

Davey beamed cheekily back. "It's your wedding, mate. Time to get dressed." And he gestured towards a suit hanging on the screen behind them. Henry turned to find the outfit he'd worn to the ball on his last night at Austenland. He blinked a few times and then had a more careful look around the room.

"Are we…?"

"At Find-a-Wife Camp?" Nate grinned. "You guessed it!"

"How…?" Henry began.

"That American girl of yours," Davey replied, "is a force to be reckoned with."

"Even your mad aunt couldn't stand in her way," Nate added.

"Mum helped," Arlo offered.

Henry stood rooted to the ground, grinning like an idiot. "She just proposed to me."

Davey laughed. "We thought you'd like that."

"Well, it was 50/50 in our house. Carrie and Arlo were sure you'd love it, Lulu and I thought you might have felt a bit ripped off, what with all of those old novels you're always reading." Nate looked at Henry's boyish grin and then back at Arlo. "Looks like Lulu and I were wrong, hey buddy?"

"We have to get you dressed quick smart, my lad!" Davey interjected, holding out a cravat. "The ladies are waiting!"

Henry obediently began unbuttoning his shirt. He looked appraisingly at his childhood friends. "You boys look alright in this gear," he laughed. "We should see if we can bring it back!"

Davey checked himself out in the mirror and patted his slight pot-belly. "I like the braces and breeches much better than belts. Comfort over fashion, I say."

Nate came and stood next to him in front of the mirror. "I'm not convinced about the cravat," he mused.

"The boots?" Henry asked, yanking off his shoes, and both men nodded enthusiastically.

"We look hot!" Davey cried, striking a pose that was more  _Saturday Night Fever_  than  _Pride and Prejudice_.

Arlo shook his head and rolled his eyes at his Uncle Henry.

Jane sat calmly in the parlour drinking tea with Molly, Ginger, Carrie and Lulu. All five of them were beautifully dressed in Regency inspired dresses from Aunt Agatha's extensive collection. Even Molly and Ginger had found gowns suitable for their current proportions. Lulu flitted between the older women. So honoured was she to be included in the bridal party, she felt a little afraid she would burst.

She looked admiringly at the woman that was soon to become her aunt. Apparently, Uncle Henry had seen her in this dress before and liked it. That seemed as good a reason as any to wear it to her wedding.

There was a knock at the door and one of the tanned and muscular manservants appeared in his incongruous white wig. "Miss Hayes, they're ready for you."

Jane carefully placed her tea cup down in its saucer and smiled at the women around her. "Ready, girls?"

They stood and Jane warmly kissed and embraced each one.

"Molly, thank you for coming all this way to do this with me," she said to her oldest friend. "And thank you for coming around to approving of Henry so wholeheartedly."

Molly laughed. "Once I got over the shock!"

Jane turned to her left. "Ginger, I so appreciate how warmly you welcomed me into your cosy little circle. Thanks for helping me get to know Henry in real life!"

Ginger beamed at her new friend. "You two are welcome at the pub any time you're in New York. We hope we'll see a lot of you both." She giggled. "Davey pines for Henry when too much time goes by."

Jane laughed and turned to smile down at Lulu. She stroked a curl back from the girl's forehead. "You are the most beautiful flower girl I have ever seen, Lulu." Lulu giggled sweetly. "And thanks so much for giving me your blessing to marry your uncle," Jane continued. "I'm so looking forward to being neighbours with your family!"

"I'll help you learn to look after the chooks," Lulu offered.

"I'll definitely take you up on that," Jane laughed. "You don't see many chickens in New York City!"

She finally turned to Carrie who was looking a little bit misty-eyed. "Oh Carrie," Jane whispered, seeing the emotion in her new sister's face. "I am so grateful for everything you've done. Thank you for making this happen" Carried nodded, quite unable to speak. "And Carrie, I'm going to love being your sister." Carrie nodded more vigorously, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue Ginger fished out of her sleeve.

Jane squared her shoulders and looked boldly at her attendants. "Alright. I'm ready to get married!"

Ginger and Mollie squealed, Lulu jumped up and down and Carrie, still beaming through her tears, busied herself passing out the bouquets of beautiful, plump, white peonies.

 


	59. Chapter 59

Henry stood beside his groomsmen at the top of the manor house steps in front of a large crowd of wellwishers. He felt himself supported, not only by his much loved nephew and friends, but also by the favourites among his fictional friends he had rejoiced with in this very situation or, at least the anticipation of it. He thought of Captain Frederick Wentworth and his Anne Eliot, Henry Tilney and Catherine Morland, Charles Bingley and Jane Bennett and, the man he most related to and the woman who had most appealed to him, Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett. Fictional though they may have been, these were men and women who taught him the value of loving wholeheartedly, loving constantly and loving well. He wanted to be the upright citizen, the respected gentleman, the reliable friend and the passionate lover that these men managed to be. He loved that they were scholars, sportsmen, soldiers, sons, brothers, comrades and soon-to-be fathers. He loved that they fought to win the hearts of the women that moved them. He loved that once their souls had been genuinely pierced, they would have chosen solitude over settling for another. He suddenly knew it to be true of himself with that same conviction. He was not Edward Ferrars or John Willoughby. If he could not have Jane, he would devote himself to his work, to his sister and Nate and to being the best uncle any man had ever been. There could be no one else for him.

A string quartet began to play and Henry chuckled to himself. How far he was from embracing single life as he watched his gorgeous niece sidle shyly down the aisle scattering red petals on the grass as she walked. He stole a glance at Davey as Ginger followed after Lulu and noticed his friend's chest puff with pride as his wife, carrying their first child, made her way towards him. Molly was next to appear and Henry watched as she found her husband, Jack, in the crowd and winked at him. There was a pause and then Henry heard Nate's sharp intake of breath as Carrie appeared. He was so enjoying himself, noticing all this evidence of such love all around him that he almost forgot to concentrate on what was dearest to him. His eyes made it back to the top of the aisle just in time to see his beloved Jane appear.

She was radiant in the silvery gown he had first seen her in at the Austenland ball. The smile on her face conveyed such deep delight and contentment and certainty and she glowed with such an other-worldly beauty that Henry felt he was falling in love with her all over again. That physical reaction he'd had at the first moment he sighted her revisited him ten-fold. His eyes filled with tears as she drew closer and he saw that she too was overcome with emotion. She reached him and held out her trembling hand to him.

Henry gripped her hand. "Thank you," he whispered, lifting her palm to his lips and kissing it tenderly as he had the night of the play. "Thank you."

.

.

Later that evening after speeches had been made, cakes had been cut, bouquets had been thrown and waltzes had been waltzed, Nate plonked himself down next to his best mate and brother-in-law. Henry sat watching his new wife walking arm-in-arm with his sister, a stupidly delighted look on his face.

"How are you, mate?" Nate enquired genially, taking Henry's barely touched beer out of his hands and helping himself to a swig.

"Never better," Henry replied jovially, turning to look his friend in the face. "You?"

"It's been a great day, eh?" Nate replied. "Happy wife, happy life? Is that how the saying goes?" He laughed. " _My_  wife is pretty stoked with the day's proceedings."

"Me too!" Henry chuckled. He was quiet for a moment and then he turned thoughtfully to his brother-in-law. "Mate," he murmured.

"Yeah?" Nate replied.

"Truth be told, I'm a bit nervous."

"Now? I would have thought the nerves would have settled by this point in the evening when everything's over and done!"

"Not  _everything_."

"Worried about getting her out of that corset with a few beers under your belt?" Nate laughed. Then he noticed that Henry looked quite serious. "Everything alright, mate?"

Henry grinned. "It's not the drink, I've hardly touched it." He hesitated. "Nate, I've never done this before."

Nate guffawed. "I'm pleased to hear it! Marriage is supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime sort of a thing, isn't it, Dr Nobley?"

Henry shook his head looking bashful. "No, I mean  _it_. I've never done  _it_."

Nate, who had been much less restrained with his beer intake, looked at his best mate, baffled.

Henry rolled his eyes and leaned in to whisper in Nate's ear. "I've never had sex."

Nate's eyes widened. "Really!? Aren't you always voted the hottest lecturer on campus? And I mean, you're easily the youngest. Haven't you got all those students throwing themselves at you?!"

Henry looked stern. "Look, maybe it's happened once or twice. But don't you agree that would be outrageously unethical for me to take advantage of situations like that!?"

Nate nodded, chastened. "Oh, the life I imagined you were living, mate! What about that Genevieve girl you used to go out with all those years ago?"

Henry shrugged. "I wanted to wait until marriage. I guess she didn't, which is probably why she ran off to Brazil with Toby. Anyway, this isn't about lack of opportunity – this is about principle!"

Nate nodded the sort of nod that implied,  _Of course. This is Henry. Why haven't I learnt to expect this sort of thing from him by now?_  "This is a gentleman thing, right?"

Henry nodded emphatically. "One of my all-time heroes, Frederick Wentworth, waited nine years for the women he loved to finally agree they could marry. He wasn't off sleeping with every woman in the country in the meantime."

Nate sighed and settled into his chair as he watched Henry warm to his topic.

"Look at Wickham, look at Willoughby, look at Captain Tilney – those guys are the villains because they don't respect the sanctity, the exclusivity, the permanence of marriage."

Nate nodded dutifully.

"I haven't resisted sex because I think there's anything dodgy about it. I've resisted it because I have such a high view of it that I wanted to reserve it for its proper place." He lent forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "But anyway, now I'm just nervous." He looked sideways at Nate. "Anything I should know?"

Nate's eyebrows shot up. He thought for a moment. "Look mate, I'm sympathetic. Remember when you punched me that time you thought Carrie and I were sleeping together?"

"She was sixteen!" Henry cried with an exasperation that suggested having had to defend himself many times over the years on the same charge.

"Yeah, yeah," Nate rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I probably deserved it because even though we weren't sleeping together then, truth be told, it didn't take us much longer after that to get started."

It was Henry's turn to raise his eyebrows, somewhat more archly.

"But anyway, all that's just to say that Carrie's the only woman I've ever been with." Nate grinned cheekily. "Sanctity, exclusivity, permanence," he raised Henry's glass, "I'll drink to that."

"But seriously, mate," Henry urged. "Advice?"

Nate leaned over and whispered, very briefly, a lifetime of knowledge.

Henry nodded, impressed. "Thanks, mate."

Nate chuckled. "I'd say, 'Anytime', but don't. It's awkward."

Henry grinned. "Fair enough."


	60. Chapter 60

All had been publically celebrated that needed to be publically celebrated and so, waving to the remaining guests waiting for their horse-drawn carriages out of Austenland, Henry held out his hand to Jane to lead her into the manor house. He'd been assured that they would have the house entirely to themselves until they called for assistance at their leisure the following day. He shut the door behind them and leaned back against it, pulling Jane close.

"We haven't been alone for two whole weeks," he murmured into her hair. "Please don't ever do that to me again."

She laughed softly. "I'm so sorry but it had to be done. Can you imagine me convincing you that nothing was going on while Carrie and I tried to plan a wedding!?" She brought his fingers to her lips and kissed them gently. "Was it worth the wait?"

Without warning, Henry lifted her into the air and swung her around in the capacious foyer. "Yes!" he cried laughing. "Suddenly, I have this magnificent wife!" He stopped spinning, and beamed up at her. "This was the most unexpected and wonderful surprise." He gradually lowered her until her feet found the ground and kissed her tenderly. "To think," he mused happily, "this morning I was utterly oblivious. If anything, I was fretting that maybe you didn't love me after all."

Jane looked horrified. "Oh, Henry! I never meant to leave you in any doubt!"

Henry chuckled, twirling his glimmering new golden band, "It doesn't really seem like a relevant concern right now, does it?"

"I suppose not," she said, taking his hand and leading him forward. Henry followed eagerly after her.

"Feel like a run?" she asked, turning back to look mischievously into his eyes.

His face broke into a broad grin. "Lead on, my love."

And she pulled him through the winding corridors of the manor to the door of the room that had briefly been her home only a month previously.

"Even in the Regency Era, I believe it was considered appropriate for husband and wife to be alone together," she whispered, turning the handle and slipping inside, drawing Henry in behind her.

Again, he stepped right up to her, and taking her hand, passionately kissed her palm. "Mmm," he murmured. "Even in your bedroom."

Jane took a step backwards, still holding his hand, leading him towards the canopied bed.

"How are you?" she whispered. "Are you still feeling nervous?"

"Well," he whispered, sliding the comb out of her hair and loosening her curls with his hands until they cascaded over her shoulders. "I was given some sage advice."

"Mmm?" she replied, sliding his coat over his broad shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.

Henry bent his head to place a line of soft kisses along the chain of her delicate necklace as he reached back to undo the clasp. "Apparently, the trick," he breathed against her throat, "is to remember that I not only have all the hours of this night…"

"Uh huh," she sighed, slipping his braces off his shoulders, dropping his waistcoat and cravat to the floor and reaching up to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one.

"…but all of the hours of our lives…" he shrugged his arms out of the billowy dress-shirt and breathlessly drew Jane against his bare skin. "…to learn how to make you happy." He reached around to the back of her neck and his fingers felt hot against her bare skin as he slowly unfastened the closings that held her gown.

"Mmmm," she nodded, placing a kiss on his perfect collar bone. "That  _is_  sound advice."

Her gown cascaded to the floor, revealing a very appealing but rather modern take on the traditional corset. He grinned. It didn't look that hard to get into at all. Henry breathed out heavily. " _I_  thought so," he whispered, winding his hands around her waist and holding her tightly against him as he found her lips.

Without warning, she grinned and pushed him forcefully back so that he overbalanced and fell, laughing, onto the bed behind him. She grabbed his boots, yanking them off, one by one.

Henry no longer cared about Austen's romantic heroes or the women they won. In fact, he mused as Jane dropped his boots on top of her discarded gown and lowered herself gracefully onto the bed right beside him, he didn't care if he never again had to the chance to give any of them another moment's reflection.

He maneuvered himself so that he was propped up on one elbow leaning over Jane. He marvelled at the beauty of this woman, her gleaming hair splayed out beneath him on the bed, and the unfettered access she granted him to her heart, soul, mind and body. He bent his head to kiss her soft lips and she responded earnestly, sliding her arms around his neck and drawing him away from the possibility of any further coherent thought.

 


	61. Chapter 61

From: drhnobley@cam.ac.uk

Subject: Milk?

Date: 21 July 2013 09:28:33 AM BST

To: cnobley@eleanormail.com

* * *

 

Carrie? We're home!

When you find this, can you be a dear and send Arlo or Lulu round to leave some milk at the back door?

Can't see us leaving this bed any time in the next several hours but I predict that eventually we'll be needing tea.

Oh, and can you pass something on to Nate for me? Tell him I said we both think he has a future as an advice columnist.  _Dear Beefcake_. Now there's an idea that's got legs…

Maybe see you tonight?

Actually, scratch that. Maybe tomorrow.

Love,

Henry

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go, Austenland junkies (JJ Feild Junkies?). This one is done! 
> 
> I do have the seeds of a few spin-off stories germinating in my head if you want to read more of the adventures of my versions of Henry and Jane. If so, feel free to let me know by showering me with rapturous reviews!
> 
> And I may just post a little epilogue of the ongoing adventures that I've already written. Let me know if you'd be keen to read it!


	62. The Drabbles That Followed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so what follows are meant to be drabbles, the technical definition of which is a story of 100 words or less. I started writing, all enthusiastic about being succinct and restrained but, as you can see, my discipline grew steadily slack. The last of these is practically an essay! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fluff that follows the main story. I have certainly not ruled out the possibility of returning to these, belting out 100 or so words every now and again is good for the brain! So please let me know if you enjoyed them!!!

Agatha Nobley found it deeply irritating that she was beginning to be known as "Henry's aunt." She had vastly preferred it that week when he sat in her drawing room in his Regency-inspired breeches and was introduced as  _her_  nephew. On top of that, she was wracked with indecision. Would she hold onto the reigns and watch as the contents of her dwindling bank account syphoned themselves ever more rapidly into the financial black hole that was Austenland? Or would she make the sacrifice akin to cutting off her own arm and agree to sell the place to that vulgar Charming woman?

 

* * *

 

 

Miss Elizabeth Charming, as she was now legally known, thanks to one of her lawyers and a deed poll certificate, had renounced embroidery, reading, whist, millinery and all other forms of sedentary activity. Instead, she busied herself exclusively with horse riding, pheasant shooting and period dancing in preparation for claiming ownership of the business she felt certain she would eventually get her hands on. Her plans to transform Austenland to an attraction more akin to Disneyland than Mansfield Park drove her relentlessly. She could not rest, nor shop, nor even have a manicure, until the place was hers.

 

* * *

 

Colonel Andrews, a military man of no small consequence, was, against all principle, shirking his duty. Truth be told, he had locked himself in the linen cupboard and was slowly asphyxiating in the heady scent of lavender drawer sachets. The object of his aversion could be heard cooing for him in the corridors and it was all he could do not to burst into tears of frustration. Mrs Wattlesbrook had assured him multiple times that the no touching rule had been expressed with absolute clarity and yet, in his experience, it was contravened at every point. So  _what_  if he proved irresistible to women? A man needed protection and he just wasn't getting enough of it.

 

* * *

 

 

Miss Amelia Hartwright put a call through to Erik, her preferred masseuse. She preferred Erik because he had muscles on his muscles and his studio was as far as she could reasonably travel from the mansion she shared with her decrepit husband without having to pack an overnight bag. She wondered how corruptible Erik might turn out to be. As yet he had rebuffed even her least subtle advances. He was no Captain George East, that's for sure. For shame.

 

* * *

 

 

Captain George East loved his work. As a man missing every scruple, without even a nuance of human understanding, he had fallen into a sociopath's heaven in Austenland where wealthy desperadoes made themselves available to him at every turn. He flexed his baby-oiled muscles in the sunlight and batted his eyelids at the new arrivals. One of these days his ship would come in and some top LA music producer would arrive at Austenland. He imagined himself as the world famous rap artist he dreamed he'd one day become. If only knowing every word to The Fresh Prince and Jazzy Jeff's  _Boom, Shake, Shake, Shake the Room_  could launch him on his chosen career. He'd be slaying them in the aisles.

 

* * *

 

Mr Wattlesbrook, as his pseudonym identified him, was not enjoying life behind bars. One too many gropes in the dark had finally caught up with him and now, sideburnless and pipeless, he stood in line for beans, resplendent in his orange onesie like all the other inmates. At night, alone in his bunk, he yearned for a sheep's eyeball or two, a round of whist, a nip of scotch and a nubile gaggle of heiresses in empire-line frocks. Unfortunately, his previous employer had made one thing perfectly clear, he would never set foot on her manicured lawns ever, ever again. Farewell, to pheasant, fire-arms and featricals.

 

* * *

 

 

Martin, or Creepy Martin, as he was commonly known, was still enjoying his dubious successes with the Austenland patrons. Kittens, foals and an unexpectedly frisky litter of imported salt-water crocodiles had the ladies fainting at his feet. Still miffed that he was yet to be promoted to the big house, he actively jostled for promotion at every opportunity, prompting Mrs Wattlesbrook to run in the opposite direction whenever she saw him coming. The retirement of the resident taxidermist brought some tasks his way that weren't exactly to his taste but he was more intimately acquainted than ever with the fake birds he had charge of placing at the start of each day.

 

* * *

 

Davey and Ginger, at home above The Cock and Bull, in the mean streets of New York City, cooed and giggled over their latest arrival, Sebastian Henry McCorkindale. He kicked his little legs like a tiny World Cup champion and made his parents glow with pride. Regular Skype dates with his godparents, Henry and Jane Nobley, in which they took it in turns to read him Austen bedtime stories, began imperceptibly to shape and guide the extremely young man in the footsteps of everyone's favourite Fitzwilliam Darcy while his dad did his best to lead him in the way of Dr Who. It was yet to be seen, at three months, whose influence would dominate.

 

* * *

 

Thoroughly modern Mollie's son had come into the world not long after the wedding and had been given the name Maverick. Jane and Henry had rolled their eyes and immediately gifted little Maverick a colourful tea set made from recycled milk bottles and a complete set of abridged Austen novels. Mollie rolled  _her_ eyes and tucked the books under his racing car themed cot. Jane and Henry struck again with a little knight costume and a silver spoon. Mollie, who had just purchased and Iron Man suit and a nerf gun and lived on the other side of the pond, shoved them into a drawer. The battle for Maverick's soul had begun.

 

* * *

 

Carrie, Nate, Arlo and Lulu had taken to placing bets on the number of times they would catch Henry and Jane stealing a snog in each of the family's encounters with them. An enterprising Arlo had even instituted a "snog jar" into which Henry was to place a generous donation towards his nephew's fencing lessons every time they were caught. He hit the jackpot in hush money when he stumbled across his uncle and aunt ripping one another's clothes off late one summer afternoon behind the chook shed. Lulu, who was going through a marriage-is-for-losers phase would only roll her eyes and pretend to vomit, much less endearing than her brother's hard capitalism.

 

* * *

 

As for Jane and Henry themselves, they lived in a bubble of tea and happiness. Theirs was a love forged in the unlikely fires of cosplay and e-mails, theatricals and firearms, bathtubs and ballrooms, sketchbooks and sheep's eyeballs. Repeatedly busted for physical displays of affection that grossed out their relations, the two of them found themselves overstepping the mark again when they brought round the pee-stained positive pregnancy test as a means of announcing their happy news. Henry immediately embarked on a reading of the canon to Jane's as yet entirely flat belly, claiming that if they started straight away, the child could benefit from two, if not three read-throughs before it even hit the birth canal.

 

* * *

 

Jane was instructed to sit down and put her feet up if she even so much as looked meaningfully at the washing up and so she relaxed into a sloth that she would struggle to clamber her way out of for the remainder of their married life. But Henry, daily so ecstatic to have found himself such a glorious companion, served and served her without even a thought for his own self-preservation. Jane was delivered a tray in bed every morning, on which she found, without fail, her favourite London Pottery Co red-and-white polka dot teapot, and matching cup and saucer, as well as a revolving door of boiled eggs with soldiers, pancakes with banana and maple syrup, eggs benedict, french toast, backyard-lady-omelettes and homemade hash browns. While he washed up after breakfast, Henry planned what he could serve her for lunch, while Jane lay back groaning and planned how she try to escape for some exercise to offset the nothing-says-I-love-you-like mountains of carbs.

 

* * *

 

Their house was wallpapered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and if Henry and Jane weren't eating, drinking tea or undressing one another, the pair of them could inevitably be found sprawled across their parallel couches by the fire, wiling away the hours with a book. The baby, whom the scan suggested was a girl, was temporarily christened Sprog and treated to long in-utero monologues by her father, extolling the virtues of this or that breed of chook or Austen novel or brand of tea leaves. Henry's wardrobe gained more and more patched elbows, checked shirts and sweater vests which Jane delighted in buttoning him out of, sometimes before he'd even left the house for work. Jane's illustration work continued at her office until she could no longer fit behind her desk, at which point she just stayed home and used her protruding belly as a work station.

 

* * *

 

Arlo got his mother to teach him how to knit so he could make a little hat for the anticipated arrival. Lulu pretended she thought it was lame but was secretly working away at a competition crocheted baby beanie of her own. Jane spent hours quizzing Carrie in person and Mollie and Ginger by telephone, on birth and babies and bassinets but Carrie, eight years out from the carnage of a newborn, had nothing to offer but hazily blissful memories with all of the horrific bits kindly edited out. Jane found these unreliable memoirs extremely reassuring. Mollie and Ginger's much fresher and more disturbing observations were put down to the stress of life in New York City.

 

* * *

 

Henry quizzed Nate and Davey and every other father he happened upon in the supermarket of a Saturday morning as to what he needed to know, own and conquer in order to be a fitting father for this glorious creature growing inside his radiant bride. Men, without quite the same hormonal obliteration of memory faced by their partners, put less of a rose-coloured gloss on everything, so where Jane was lulled into a false sense of security, Henry was whipped into a terrorised frenzy.

 

* * *

 

But when Henry finally got to hold the little pink bundle in his arms, he was relieved to find that he had no idea what all the fuss had been about. Jane had clearly been the most amazing woman ever to give birth and here they were, suddenly a family of three, with merely a mad dash to the hospital and a few minutes of roaring behind them now that their tiny, perfect, Elena Mollie Nobley had made her way into the world. He blinked away the tears of joy and they laughed uproariously at their three enormous but unopened, expertly and repeatedly packed and itemised birthing bags. It seemed Elena didn't even have time for them to get the Bee Gees playing on the iPod before she wanted out. And now that she was out, their already large hearts were mystically and wonderfully expanded and enlarged to welcome this new little one into their family that suddenly seemed that it had never been comprised of anything less than three.

 

* * *

 

In the blissful haze that followed the day of Elena's birth, Henry tiptoed up the stairs, carefully balancing Jane's heavily laden breakfast tray. He was conscious he might have overdone it. Gently placing the tray on the bedside table, he turned to ask Jane if she wanted pepper on her poached eggs. Jane was asleep, curled around the tiny form of their newborn who, in a sign of what was clearly prodigious talent, smiled a little smile in her sleep. Henry was torn between running to fetch the camera or just standing and watching and savouring the moment. He chose to savour and stood and wept with happiness as the eggs congealed and the toast went soggy and the tea turned cold. Was there ever a colder hot breakfast or a happier man? Henry thought not.

 

* * *

 

As the days and the weeks and the months went by, the sleep-deprivation waxed and waned, the astounding piles of baby-washing grew and shrunk, and Henry, Jane and Elena settled into family life. Henry would arrive home from work to find Jane and Elena gently snoozing together in the squashy armchair in front of the fire and just sit and adore them for a few minutes before boiling the kettle for his compulsory home-coming pot of Russian Caravan. Jane would open her eyes of a morning to find Elena's tiny form ensconced in the arms of her snoring father and lay there enjoying this scene of paternal bliss before tiptoeing down the stairs to the boil the kettle for their compulsory early-morning pot of English Breakfast. On the weekends, the two of them would lie on the rug on either side of little Elena as she lay on her back, legs in the air, trying with all her might to pull off her socks, before one or the other of them would get up to boil the kettle for their compulsory Saturday afternoon pot of Earl Grey. Their parenting was sustained by and well-steeped in the pungent leaf - that was the way this English chap and his Anglophile wife rolled.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes, while Henry sat in the armchair by the fire, reading Elena a passage or two about her namesake from  _Northanger Abbey_ , Jane would sit opposite with her sketchbook trying to capture the scene in charcoal. She had married a good-looking man, there were no two ways about it. And, if anything, Henry grew ever more attractive as he rocked their daughter to sleep in his arms, tunelessly humming an unidentifiable song, his countenance one of pure adoration. He cheerfully ferried baskets of washing to and from the laundry, or stirred a soup on the stove, or stoked the fire, or brewed a pot of tea for his wife, whistling to himself in his utter contentment and, in doing so, he surpassed even the beauty of Adonis, Narcissus or any other famous, gorgeous, self-absorbed god of antiquity. Jane loved the moments when she could work away at translating that exact half-smile or the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes or the perfection of Henry's hand cradling Elena's tiny head, to paper. She would flick through her sketchbook and laugh. What was once a good likeness was now an intimate portrait, the details and idiosyncrasies captured with the precision that comes with familiarity. To think Henry had once commented on the number of drawings she'd made of him. That paltry four or five had now been exceeded by a number somewhere in the thousands and the besotted artist showed no signs of slowing down.

 

* * *

 

 

Gradually, transatlantic dynastic schemes began to be hatched and plans began to be laid. Molly thought that despite her parents' weird influence, little Elena would probably turn out alright. What self-respecting person could enter her teenage years obsessed with… and then she remembered Jane. Jane and Henry were somewhat less open-minded when it came to Maverick and passed him over entirely, in favour of the as yet small though inherently dashing Sebastian. Sebastian and Elena kicked and gurgled happily at each other on the occasions of their appointed Skype dates and all their observing ancestors declared it to be a sign of true love. Henry and Jane together with Davey and Ginger plotted the alliance without giving the slightest thought to the despicable Lady Catherine de Bourgh whose example, along with that of the late Mrs Darcy, they unwittingly followed. However, unlike the Lady de Bourgh, neither party harboured any sense of their children actually having to carry through with their parents' marriage plot.

 

* * *

 

On his third birthday, Maverick was presented with a child-size car. Powered by a horrific amount of batteries, the thing roared along the pavement terrorising pedestrians. Before he sped off into the knee-caps of the neighbourhood senior citizens, Molly kissed him on the forehead and slid a miniature pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses onto his nose.

Not many months later, only a few suburbs away, the newly three-year-old Sebastian was given a zoo membership and a junior science kit. Davey and Ginger duly slathered their pale English skin with sunscreen, donned their sunhats and marched their excited boy off to meet the animals.

Almost a year after that, little Elena awoke on her third birthday to find her bedroom floor covered in brightly coloured balloons. She donned her customary knight costume, complete with sword and shield, and then commenced gallantly stomping on the balloons, shrieking with delight as each and every foe was vanquished with a satisfying bang. There would be no sleeping in for Mummy and Daddy on her third birthday! She rushed into their bedroom and landed deftly between them after a running jump from the doorway.

While Henry stumbled blearily towards the kitchen to brew a pot of tea, Jane and Elena cuddled up together for her three obligatory morning stories. At that moment, everything had to feature a dragon. By mutual agreement, Henry and Jane had decided Austen could wait – it was the 21st Century after all. Their daughter couldn't grow up thinking that accomplishment was limited to piano-playing and embroidery. Instead, Elena was learning tumbling, bike-riding, tree-climbing and insect-collecting with a little bit of extremely messy cup-cake making thrown in for good measure.

For her birthday, by particular request, she received one set of dragon wings, two wooden jousting sticks, three new carriages for her Brio railway and a pink and purple sparkly fairy wand and skirt thrown in for good measure. Consistency was not in her (nor any other three-year-old's) nature.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story has LOTS of short chapters so they'll come at you in bursts - hope you enjoy them. Pleeeeease let me know if you do!!!


End file.
